White Light
by Princesspepper
Summary: A collection of seven HarryDraco oneshots plus a prologue and epilogue, each with a different colored theme, that collectively make white light. WARNINGS: Language, slash. 01Red: passion, anger, bravery, courage, love.
1. 00: Black

Title: White Light

Author: Princesspepper

Pairing: Harry/Draco

(A/N): This is the first time I ever got a fic idea in Chemistry class… Well, this is the prologue to a story consisting of seven unrelated one-shots. Each one will represent a color that makes up white light—the color of purity and perfection. This is just the prologue so it sort of sets everything up (although, like every other chapter, it is completely unrelated to everything else—although there may be a connected epilogue). It's also shorter and more ambiguous than the others will be. Anyway, I hope you like it!

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**(Prologue: Black)**  
_Black: Death; mourning; depression; sexuality; lack of color; lack of light; lack of clarity._

White light. Everybody strives towards everything it stands for: a perfect balance of everything; a pureness of heart; a definition. But what many don't realize is that if you pick it apart, it is made up of seven distinct parts. Red is passion and anger; orange is strength and change; yellow is loyalty and happiness; green is jealously and hope; blue is power and clarity; indigo is night and sadness; violet is royalty and love.

And here I am, entrenched in black.

We are alone, myself and him, and neither of us can see a thing, save for the vague outlines of one another's bodies. Neither of us know how we got here or why, but we have both come to accept the fact that we are here, and we're not coming out anytime soon. The vague, almost nonexistent crack in the thick curtains provides the only light that is filtering into the room, caressing our silhouettes and creating fuzzy outlines and suggestions of where things might be.

Being locked in this room is not helping matters, and things continue to look bleak as I sit here on this uncomfortable piece of furniture; I don't even know what it is, but it must be fairly big, as he's sitting beside me with his leg pressed against mine. I can tell from his posture (or what I can see of it) that he is uncomfortable, and I feel the muscles in his leg twitch ever so slightly every once in a while, but I'm super-aware of every move that he makes, because so much is riding on this. We haven't really spoken to each other for days, since _the incident_, but neither of us seems to want to be the one to bring it up. By some twist of fate, we have managed to wind up here, against both of our wills, and without the wands that we have come to rely on so heavily.

He shifts uncomfortably, and I see his head moving—I think it's in my direction, but I can't be completely sure. "Malfoy?" he whispers, as if he's afraid to break the silence that has become almost sacred.

"What is it, Potter?" I whisper back, too tired to inject the usual venom into my tone, but rather letting my words sink to the floor, just lying there until someone else bothers to pick them up and dust them off.

"I'm sorry about the other day," he answers just as softly, now looking back down at his hands.

I sit there, shocked. I really hadn't expected an apology from him. He had every right to punch me after I had attempted to kiss him; I probably would have done the same if it were him trying it on me after we had gone so many years hating each other, and then forming a tentative friendship that was ready to collapse any day. We just have too many differences between us; it's a fact of life—we push each other's buttons.

"Why are you sorry?" I say, a little louder this time.

He shrugs one shoulder—and I only know this because I could feel it against my own—and answers me. "Shouldn't've hit you."

"Why not? I would have done the same thing," I say truthfully, wringing my hands subconsciously.

"But I didn't mean it," he says, his voice full of despair and confusion. I sense that he hadn't meant to reveal that much, as he tenses after he says it, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"What?"

"Give me another chance," he whispers, as if he wishes I can't hear him. "I swear I'll get it right this time."

I squint at him through the darkness, but I can't make out his facial expression. I decide that the only way to tell if he's serious or not is to do what he says, and give him another chance. I move my hand to find his cheek and cup it softly, feeling the smoothness of his skin and wishing that I could see it for myself. I guide his face closer to mine, and I know I'm moving in the right direction when I feel his hot breath skate across my cheek, giving me gooseflesh. Our lips meet and my heart starts beating faster because it's lasting much longer than it did last time, and I can tell he wants it as badly as I do, and he's hungry for it, and wants to taste me like I want to taste him.

He moans and I could swear that my heart just stopped—if only for a second. If it lasts any longer I'll just die, so I pull away and catch my breath, resting my hands on my knees.

I want to see him. If only someone could turn on a fucking light.

"Look at me, Draco," he says, his voice filled with desperation, and I can tell he's about to break.

I turn my head in his direction, and answer him. "I can't, Harry. I can't see a thing."

**(To Be Continued…)**

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(A/N): Since it's kinda hard to get writer's block on stories that aren't connected, I'll probably be posting these pretty close together, perhaps once a week. I've already got the next one and half of the one after written, but I'm going to wait a while. I need reviews, you know. I won't post ANYTHING else without reviews, and an adequate amount at that (I am a shameless review whore). You have anger and passion to look forward to in the next one, so give me my feedback fix!

**XOXO Princesspepper OXOX**


	2. 01: Red

Title: White Light

Author: Princesspepper

Pairing: Harry/Draco

(A/N): Well, here's the first chapter of seven for White Light. I hope I can keep this up and make it work like I wanted it to…

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**(One: Red)**

_Red: Passion; anger; bravery; courage; love._

Every day, he could feel it burning a hole in his chest. He knew it was destroying him from the inside out, but he was completely powerless to stop it. He also knew that if he explored it a bit more, he'd probably be able to stop it. The only problem was, he didn't exactly know what it was.

He did know it was an emotion. It took him a while to figure this out, though; at first he thought he was getting sick. He was paying weekly visits to Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, telling her he had this weird feeling spreading in his chest and stomach, and asking her if he had been poisoned. After running the tests for the fifth time, over a month before his first visit, she finally had to threaten him in order to get him to stay away.

"Mr. Malfoy, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you! I don't know if you're just trying to get out of class or what, but if I see you here again next week, or anytime soon for that matter, I'm going to give you detention with Filch, and don't think I won't!"

The agitated nurse's rant had woken him up in a way; he finally ruled out sickness. The next day he decided he must not be eating enough, because it sort of felt like having an empty stomach. He proceeded to stuff himself at every meal, but all he gained after that was five pounds in the span of two weeks, which _made_ him stop, because if he kept this up, he'd start to look ugly, and nobody needed that.

Next, he decided he must have anger issues, because every time Harry Potter walked by, the feeling intensified, especially if he looked happy. He must be _jealous_ of Potter, so he had to take this anger and jealousy out somewhere. Or on someone. He began to yell at his friends whenever he got the opportunity. He would yell himself hoarse, until he was too exhausted, and his throat was too raw, to go on. He did feel better, while he was yelling, but he soon realized that was only because it was distracting him, because one day he woke up with laryngitis and that same feeling gnawing at his insides.

Soon after, he thought the source of his problem was a need for recognition, so he paid very close attention in all of his classes, even Defense Against the Dark Arts. He spent all night studying, and all day doing work. He'd be the first one with his hand up, even before Granger. He realized this wasn't the solution when he woke up ill for real, because of lack of sleep.

Then he decided he needed more sleep. He slept for at least twelve hours every night, and all day on the weekends. His friends were beginning to get worried about him, because all he'd do in his free time was sleep. He finally stopped oversleeping when he had a very weird dream, which he would never tell anyone about.

This weird dream kind of woke him up, ironically enough. What if that feeling in his gut was due to a need for a relationship of some sort? He then dated Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bullstrode (a mistake, surely), Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, and Ginny Weasley in the span of two months. He asked out Hermione Granger, but received nothing but three punches in the stomach from his request (one from her, one from Ron Weasley, and one from Harry Potter).

When his romantic ventures gained him nothing but the flu (he knew he shouldn't have kissed that Weasley girl) and an upset stomach, he realized he must have been doing something wrong, but bravely pressed on. He dated Blaise Zabini, Zacharias Smith, and Neville Longbottom (which took bribery) in the span of a month. He asked out Seamus Finnigan, but received nothing but a slap across the face (from Dean Thomas, but how was he supposed to know Finnigan was taken?).

He could tell he was getting closer, but it still didn't feel right. The gnawing intensified as each day went by, and he truly felt like he had no idea what to do. Was this normal? Did it happen to others too? Or was he just strange?

He went on like this for another month, trying to hold back what he was feeling as much as he could; trying to not let others see that he was missing a piece of his body, or perhaps one of his organs, because that's what it felt like. It felt like he was lacking one of the principle parts of a functioning being; it may sound cliché, but he felt _incomplete._

Finally, one day, he was driven into a rage. On a subconscious level, he sort of _wanted_ said rage, because as he discovered months earlier, yelling at people distracted from that feeling of missing something. The most obvious candidate for a fight would be Harry Potter, so during Potions class, he subtly spilled Potter's cauldron on the floor, causing him to fly off at him.

"What are you _doing,_ Malfoy?" Potter spat, his sharp eyes narrowed in his direction, his entire being emanating power. "_What did I ever do to you?_"

"What ever are you talking about, Potter?" he said, playing the innocent act to incite Potter even further.

"That's it, Malfoy!" Potter screamed, his hands twitching for his wand. Apparently Draco's antics had worked.

"I agree, Potter, that _is_ it," he responded, his voice lowering until it was practically inaudible, leaning closer to Potter to whisper in his ear. "Meet me outside the Forbidden Forest at midnight and we'll settle this. No wands… I want to smack the shit out of you."

Although he kept up his angry façade, he was really brimming with glee at the thought of having a one on one brawl with Potter finally. He wasn't going to set him up like he did when they were first years; no, he would definitely be showing up this time around.

"Fine," Potter spat, turning away and beginning to clean up his spilt Potion. "You better be there, Malfoy, or there will be hell to pay."

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At eleven thirty, he quietly climbed out of his bed fully clothed and picked up his outer cloak from on top of his trunk, fastening it around his neck carefully and placing his wand in its inner pocket. True, he had said no wands, but Slytherins liked to play dirty. Besides, what if he ran into a strange creature on his way there? It would be just plain stupid to venture into the Forest without a wand.

He crept downstairs to the common room, and then, after leaving said room, climbed up the stairs to the main floor where he walked briskly to the doors, exiting the school altogether and stepping out into the frigid winter air. Excitement pooled in his stomach as he realized what he was about to do; finally, he'd have his fight with Potter, and there'd be no teachers or friends or adults around to stop them.

The only reason he could see anything on the otherwise pitch-black lawn was because of the layer of newly fallen snow on the ground; it reflected the moonlight in such a way that he could see the individual crystals glittering in the night, as if mimicking the stars. He watched as his shoes left imprints in the snow, taking a mental note of this: on the way back to the school he'd have to cover them up to erase all evidence of him being out there.

Once he reached the edge of the Forest, he walked over to a tree and leaned against it casually, turning around and surveying his surroundings; apparently Potter hadn't arrived yet. He looked at his watch and saw that it was only a quarter to midnight; Potter wasn't late, but he himself was early.

Ten minutes later, he felt as if he weren't alone, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up, as if warning him of something. Every little sound was making him twitch, and he was sure he was about to be attacked. Sure enough, a moment later the air seemed to quiver in front of him, and suddenly Potter was there, removing what appeared to be an Invisibility Cloak.

He must have jumped, for Potter looked amused. "Scared you, did I?" he spat, throwing his cloak to the floor and eyeing Draco predatorily.

"Oh, you wish," he threw back. "But enough with the social niceties, that's not what we came here for, is it? Or are you afraid I'll kick your ass?" He knew he was being immature, but it was just too easy to go down that road. Plus, it never failed to incite Potter.

"I'll show you," Potter growled, charging at him full force. Draco anticipated this move and stepped swiftly out of the way, causing Potter to stumble slightly, losing his footing. Draco took this opportunity to strike back, so he did; charging as hard and he could, he made contact with Potter and wrapped his arms around his waist, causing both of them to fall onto the snow covered ground.

As they fell, they rolled out of the shadow cast by the trees and into the moonlight. Draco felt Potter struggling underneath him, but he had him pinned pretty well, with his hands pressing on Potter's shoulders and his knees squeezing Potter's thighs together so he couldn't kick. The moonlight made Potter's face seem almost flawless, if not contorted by anger and frustration; his cheeks were even brightening from the struggle.

Because of the fact that Draco had the upper hand for the time being, he felt a sense of triumph swelling in his chest, and oddly enough, he could also tell that he felt much more… well, satisfied. It was the strangest thing, so Draco felt himself trying to search for that empty feeling in his stomach that he just couldn't seem to rid himself of. To his amazement, it wasn't there—or if it was, he was having an extremely hard time finding it.

While he was distracted, Potter had begun thrashing more violently, and soon was able to upset Draco's balance without much difficulty, as Potter was quite a few pounds heavier. Draco found himself face-up with his back in the snow; he was able to get a quick view of the starry sky before his view was obstructed by Potter's head. He was soon unable to move due to the fact that Potter had pinned him, and was surprised at himself for not feeling angry.

"Well, Malfoy, what am I supposed to do now?" Potter hissed, his thumbs digging into Draco's arms painfully. "Why aren't you trying to get away? Do you _want_ me to hit you? Is that it?" Before Draco could even try to answer the question himself, he felt a slap sting across his cheek. He laughed harshly, shaking his head to fling some hair out of his eyes.

"Is that all you've got, Potter?" he spat, bringing up one of his knees quickly so it made contact with Potter's groin, making him yelp in pain and consequently fall off of Draco.

Now Draco was on top again, in complete control once more. Potter was still rendered motionless and would be for another minute or so, so Draco had some time. "You bastard," he spat, moving so the tip of his nose was only an inch away from Potter's. Even when he was this close, he could see the pain in Potter's eyes, and it made him feel very, very good.

"The feeling's mutual," Potter responded through clenched teeth. Draco shifted his leg slightly so his knee was in-between Potter's legs, and shoved it up roughly—as if to remind him of who happened to be in control at the moment—so Potter cried out in pain again.

And right then, with the moonlight reflecting off Potter's glasses and glowing inside his green eyes, Draco was able to see the intense hatred, and realize how intense his own hatred was. So intense, in fact, that it had driven him to the point of obsession. But if he hated Potter so immensely, then why did he find that face so deceptively beautiful?

Realization dawned, and he thought, _Maybe the lines are a lot more blurred than people think_. Perhaps Potter saw the shift in his gaze, for he too began to visibly change; his face still held that pain and hatred, but perhaps that was something else shining through those black pupils that were so dilated that they swallowed up most of the green. In fact, the two of them hated each other to such an extent that they almost… didn't.

Passion. It all boiled down to fucking _passion_. Passionate hatred, and passionate…

Suddenly, Draco's empty feeling surged up again, and he felt it intoxicating him, and driving him, and he knew what he had to do to make it go away. He moved down swiftly and smashed his lips together with Potter's with such fierceness that he almost surprised himself. He felt Potter's entire body jolt beneath him, but to his immense surprise, Potter made no attempt to push him off. Quite the contrary, he opened his mouth and began furiously biting at Draco's mouth, and Draco began doing the same until he tasted coppery blood, and he wasn't quite sure who it belonged to, but at the same time he didn't care, even if it _were_ him. He could keep on bleeding until the snow was stained with it, and that would be even better, because it would be a tangible reminder of what was happening.

Finally they broke apart, both breathing rapidly and Draco leaning heavily on Potter, making it even harder for the rising and falling of his chest. He opened his eyes and took in Potter's battered visage; his face was smeared with blood, his lips were swollen, and he had this look in his eyes that Draco couldn't quite classify. But then it came to him.

It was the passion again, both passionate hatred, _and_ passionate love. The two words became synonymous in Draco's mind.

When they caught their breath, Potter locked eyes with Draco, moving his arms and gripping Draco's shoulders in his hands, making Draco believe that not only was he trying to hurt him as much as possible, but also that he wasn't going to allow anything to make him let go.

Unblinkingly, they stared at each other, and Draco was surprised to see the faint suggestion of tears in the corners of Potter's eyes, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that he looked so furious.

"Malfoy," he said slowly and evenly between shallow breaths, "_you have no idea how much I fucking hate you._"

Draco smiled. Perhaps he looked sadistic or malicious, but he was smiling, regardless.

"Likewise, Potter."

**(End)**

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(A/N): Well, that was strange if I do say so myself. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it (even if you don't quite get it, because I'm not sure if _I _quite get it, and I wrote it!). Reviews are very much appreciated. In fact, they're MANDITORY! If you want to see what else I have in store, you _must_ review! If I get no response, I won't post the other six chapters!

The theme of the next chapter is orange, which represents strength, endurance, autumn, and change, and will feature an extremely bored Harry Potter who is ready to make some… well, changes. Also look forward to an extremely drunk Draco Malfoy. (And by the way, not all of the stories will end as ambiguously as the one you've just read, so you should check back even if you didn't like it). WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? GO REVIEW!

**XOXO Princesspepper OXOX**


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